Once upon a time, I was writing this story.  I hope some of you remember what it was about, since I haven't posted an installment for so bloody long.  *g*

On with the show... I know no one's going to read my little introductory rant today anyway.

Rating: NC-17
Characters: Clark, Lex, Jonathan, Whitney, Lana, Gabe Sullivan, plus one.
Summary: The most heroic thing Clark did on a regular basis was to stitch up Taber’s right side whenever he needed it.
A/N: To be continued soon!  But note that I'm not quantifying that statement with an actual date. *g*

Part 1
Part 2:1
Part 2:2
Part 2:3
Part 2:4
Part 2:5
Part 2:6
Part 2:7
Part 2:8
Part 2:9
Part 2:10
Part 2:11
Part 2:12


“Broderick –” Clark tried, and then bit his lip, hard.  “Please tell me you were using safety scissors, at least.”

Brodie held out his hand to show the little red round-nosed scissors that belonged to him exclusively, and Clark was torn between relief and wonder that the innocent little instruments could wreak such harm.

“My head is cold,” Brodie said, almost puzzled by the fact.

“Only on the one side, I bet,” Clark said, taking the scissors and trying to assess damage and fight back laughter at the same time.  He’d discovered in the past that Brodie was like a poodle – if Clark laughed at anything he did, Brodie was sure to do it over and over again, hoping for more laughter.  And there could not be any more impromptu haircuts.  “I left you alone for five minutes!”

“I’m not all done,” Brodie said, pulling at the half of his head that still had golden curls.

“Yes, you are,” Clark said.  “We’re going into town and getting Marvin to fix this.”

“No,” Brodie said.  “I want to stay like this.”

“Half-bald?” Clark asked incredulously.

“No, don’t put it back on,” Brodie protested, batting at Clark’s hands as he tried to gather up some of the locks of hair scattered on the floor around Brodie.

Clark couldn’t help a short laugh at this.  “I can’t put it back, buddy.  Once you cut it off, it stays off.  We’ll have to cut off the rest of it, too.”

“What did he do?” Jonathan asked from the doorway, sounding horrified.  “Is he hurt?”

“Nah, he’s fine,” Clark sighed.  “I went to get something from upstairs.  I got back and –”

“He looks like a chemo patient,” Jonathan said, tilting his head, relaxing into a smile.

Brodie was experimenting with Clark’s news about haircuts being irreversible, trying to get a few curls to stick to his shorn scalp and watching as they drifted to the floor again.

“Why did you do it, buddy?” Clark asked, scooping up more hair and brushing off Brodie’s shirt.

Brodie shrugged.

“Just because?” Clark asked.

“Maybe he’s trying to look like your – like Lex,” Jonathan suggested, sticking his hands in his pockets and focusing on the wallpaper.

“Like *my*…” Clark repeated, looking back at Brodie, then at Jonathan.  “You– … Dad.  Lex and I…”

Jonathan cleared his throat and shook his head minutely, telegraphing his reluctance to hear the end of Clark’s statement.  But Clark was too busy being shocked at his father’s leap of logic to remember what he was saying.  Sure, Clark knew he’d been acting differently ever since Lex – well, since Lex.  But Clark’s new clothes, his new shoes, the flag on his bedroom mirror, his new propensity to hang out with friends from school – was Dad really marking that all down as Lex’s victory?  Did Dad really think that Clark and Lex were – well, they *had* been, but that Jonathan had noticed at all had to be some sort of miracle, and now he was bringing it up in this passive-aggressive way – how was Clark supposed to respond?

“Dad, Lex isn’t my boyfriend,” Clark said, flatly, and there was a breath of relief in the air for an instant before Clark continued.  “We had a thing for a while, and now it’s over.  Now it’s really just about Brodie.  Lex is good for him.”

There – out.  Like Brodie, Clark was almost startled at the lightness of the sensation – it wasn’t merely freeing, it was sort of – cold.

“He looks like that dwarf, the one who doesn’t have a beard,” Jonathan said after a moment elapsed, and Clark had to check the direction of his gaze to confirm that Jonathan was referring to Brodie, not Lex.  “What’s his name… Dopey.”

So they weren’t going to talk about it, Clark concluded, with a mixture of resignation and annoyance.  “Come on, Dopey, we’re going to the barber,” he said, getting up on his knees and hauling Brodie to his feet.  “Guess we know what you’re going to be for Halloween.”

“I wanna visit Yex,” Brodie announced, as he was wont to do a few days after his last trip to the mansion, or whenever he heard Lex’s name.

“It’s Thursday,” Clark said.  “Not until next week.”

Brodie looked like he was going to protest more violently, but Clark stemmed the tide of toddler-fury with a promise of a post-haircut ice cream cone and a visit to Whitney.  When he looked up at the doorway again, Jonathan was gone.

“Daddy’s going to be Grumpy for Halloween,” Clark told Brodie.  “Either that or the lesser-known dwarf, Homophobe-y.”

“No candy for Daddy,” Brodie said solemnly in reply.

***

Lana lit up in Metropolis.  In Smallville, she seemed angular, unable or unwilling to fit into the place prepared for her.  Her mannerisms were almost forced, angry, aggressive.  Lex had liked that about her, that black sheep quality that was so refreshing against the oatmeal-bland background of the farming town.  Still, Lex had never suspected that Lana would be so at ease among the cool splendor of his Metropolitan acquaintances.  He’d even anticipated that she would seem backwards, unsure of herself, perhaps become unusually laconic and attempt to become unnoticeable, unnoticed.

But no such thing happened.  Rather, all the edges of her Smallville defenses dropped away to reveal someone who was born for this.  Lex had planned to ease Lana into things, restrict them both to private dinners in expensive restaurants where kind and practiced servers would overlook any gaffes or oddities on the part of his fiancée.  But she’d been so spectacularly relaxed.  Of course, wasn’t familiar with the etiquette, but Lana was a natural when it came to what the society women did best – she sat back and let Lex do everything for her.

Emboldened by this success, Lex had wasted no time in introducing her to Lionel, giving her strict instructions to both infuriate him as much as possible and to prepare herself for gross mistreatment at Lionel’s hands.  And she had been so marvelous at the first – opening with the line, “We’ve met, actually … back when my aunt forced me to take up riding.  She was fishing for wealthy and socially-inept men.  Oh, not that *you* qualified.  I think she just liked you.” – that Lionel was barely able to get in a word edgewise with which to snub Lana.

Lex decided then and there that the apprenticeship term was finished – it was time to take Lana to the big leagues.

“I don’t see why you can’t just buy me the jewelry I need,” Lana griped, watching in the mirror as Lex fastened a heavy diamond choker around her neck.

“Because you’re not worth that much,” Lex told her brightly, running his hands down her shoulders, enjoying the beauty he’d acquired.  “Besides, this way, there’s no danger of wearing the same thing twice.”

“I would wear this twice,” Lana offered with a smile.  “Isn’t there a rent-to-own option?”

“Come on, we’re running late,” Lex said, reaching for her coat and holding it out for her.  He was thinking, as he often had the past few weeks, that if only Lana were a little older, if only he could be certain that she had sown all the wild oats she needed to, Lex would gladly go all the way with this engagement, marry Lana and keep her as the very expensive and exquisite kind of pet she would make.  It wasn’t that she suited Lex, so much as that she never stopped surprising him.  It was the same thing that drew him to Brodie, even to Clark, except with Lana, the attraction was innocuous, not laced with the danger he braved in caring for Brodie or the sexual combustibility of sleeping with Clark.

And for all her sleek elegance, Lana had a quality of naivete about her, an entrancing way of playing make-believe in every situation.  She played at being a hardened bitch just as much as she played at being Lex’s spoiled kept woman.  Who Lana really was, underneath every guise, was an actress, a creative soul whose defining trait was her flexibility, her shape-shifting personality.  Even this moment, as Lex escorted her into the fairy-lit and dazzling Metropolis Opera benefit, Lana was fitting herself with a new mantle.  She was growng wide-eyed at the glamour they encountered, her shoulders slipping back and her spine lengthening, her steps shortening and her touch on Lex’s arm softening.  She was Eliza Doolittle at the Embassy Ball, she was Cinderella in her conjured finery, she was Esther finding herself the favored consort of a rich and ancient monarch.  Lex smiled and bent to kiss her cheek, and she even affected a sort of nervous flutter of lashes, little girl shyness dredged up from long-ago days.

“You’re lovely,” Lex said, and meant not this disguise, this feigned princess identity, but Lana herself, the wily and mercurial Eve who donned a different face for every occasion, to meet her every need.  She was a wholly selfish and yet wholly entrancing creature.  Lex smiled at the simplicity that was Lana.

“Is there dancing?” she asked, because – Lex knew – her dress would show to best advantage when flared slightly from the rhythmic motions of a dance.


“Later,” Lex promised.  “First, we should go and greet my father.  Then, there’s dinner.  And speeches, and performances.”

“Your father,” she said, smiling and crinkling her nose a little, like Lionel was some old crusty bastard to be humored, or maybe an irresistible toy.

Lionel was polite to Lana this time, almost courteous, and Lex was beginning to recognize that his father liked Lana, too, in his way.  He was toying with her, of course, just as Lex was, but underneath the veneer of almost scientific civility, Lionel was intrigued.

“You look wonderful, Ms. Lang,” Lionel said.

“Thank you,” Lana answered with a dissembling duck of her chin that didn’t fool either Luthor for a moment.  She was breathtaking, and she knew it.

“Do sit,” Lionel urged, “and I’ll fetch you a drink.  What would you like?”

Lana looked at Lex, all helpless confusion, and Lex said, on cue, “Champagne, I think.”

“Thank you,” Lana said, and while Lionel went off in search of a glass, Lex saw her seated at their table.  “I don’t know anything about opera.  Give me a primer.”

Lex tapped his nails on the table.  “Here’s the only thing you need to know.  Whenever someone mentions a singer or an opera that you don’t recognize, just nod and say, ‘ah,’ in a knowing voice.”

“Ah,” Lana said, trying it out.

“I hear we’re going to have ‘O mio babbino caro’ tonight,” Lionel said, setting a glass in front of Lana.

“Ah,” Lana said again with a knowing smile.

“From Barbara Raleigh, no less,” Lionel said.

“Ah,” Lex sighed appreciatively.

“Tell you the truth, Ms. Lang,” Lionel said, leaning forward in a conspiratorial manner.  “I’d rather be keeping an eye on the Sharks game tonight.  My team is doing remarkably well this season, I must admit.”

“They’re losing tonight,” Lana said, taking a sip of champagne.

Lionel’s eyebrows shot up and Lex was forced to smile at Lana’s easy way of unnerving his father.  “They shouldn’t be, not with Wenger on the field.”

“Wenger’s been favoring his right knee,” Lana said, tone matter-of-fact.  “He’s heading for an injury.  And when he gets hurt…”

“You’re a pessimist,” Lionel said, waving his hand in dismissal.

“They’re down ten points already,” Lana replied, then blinked quickly and blushed.  “The radio was playing in the ladies’ room,” she added by way of explanation.

“I didn’t know you followed football,” Lex said, revising his opinion of Lana’s simple character.

“You don’t know everything about me, imagine that!” Lana smiled archly, and they were interrupted by the emcee announcing that the evening had officially begun.